


Stuck 4 Dead

by Soldat_Buck



Category: Captain America (Movies), Left 4 Dead, Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - World War II, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Captain America: The First Avenger, Crossover, Gen, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2018-08-15 01:43:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8037337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soldat_Buck/pseuds/Soldat_Buck
Summary: In their post-Austria rampage against Hydra, Steve and Bucky discover that Hydra's experiments with recreating Erskine's serum goes a lot darker than just making super soldiers. ---AKA: Steve and Bucky encounter Left 4 Dead's special infected while making their way through Hydra-occupied PolandWritten with a focus on capturing the feel of playing a L4D2 game, but with, you know, Captain America characters and in a WWII setting





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I liked the idea of Steve and Bucky unexpectedly coming across the grotesque Special Infected from the Left 4 Dead series, and writing their reactions to that. It made sense to me to have it set more or less during The First Avenger timeframe, somewhere after Bucky's rescue from Azzano. 
> 
> First chapter is short, since I'm using it as a way to test the waters, get a feel for things, you know? Think of it as a kind of an intro.

They burst through the warehouse office door, inhuman roaring echoing in their ears. A slab of concrete the size of a small car hits the side of the warehouse as Steve and Bucky slam the door closed, throwing a table in front of it to act as a barricade.

Steve cranes his head, wild-eyed, trying to take in details the room and calculating defense tactics as quickly as he can. 

"Buck" he pants, "how the hell are we gonna take that thing down? Our boys don't stand a chance without us."

Bucky watches Steve from the corner of his eye, his grey eyes going steel hard < _that cold look, he's never been like that before_ >

"They're dead, Steve.”

Steve scowls. “You don't know that! There weren't that many enemy soldiers out there, we can still go back out and rescue them! They're only going to be dead because we're leaving them behind!”

Bucky turns to Steve and grabs his shoulders. “Look, I don't know what that thing was, but we shouldn't be planning on sticking around long enough to find out." His voice sharpens to match his expression. He lets go to jab a finger at the door.

"That- that thing, it had a person's face. It probably  _ was _ a person at one point. But it ain't human anymore. I don't know what fucked up things Hydra is up to, but we don't stand a chance. Not right now, not when they're turning people into monsters, and not when it's only us two with no kind of reinforcements." He sighs and wipes the side of his face, leaning against the table as he does so.

"We need to keep moving. It ain't gonna do anybody no good if we get ourselves killed, and I guaran-fucking-tee you, that's what's going to happen if we don't get away from that abomination."

There's a ladder up, with a landing and a door leading to what looks like catwalks to the warehouse. Steve glares at the barricaded door before climbing the ladder. 

"There's first aid up here! Bucky, we're going back!"

"You saw what happened, Rogers! Every one of them was surrounded by those walking- walking dead people, biting and kicking and scratching. And that giant one, he's ripping up pieces of the road! The road, Steve! One hit from him... They're as good as dead if they're not already." His voice cracks a little. "And it looks like dying ain't enough to keep Hydra's hands off of them."

He climbs up the ladder after Steve. "Looks like there's ammo up here too. We should load up."

Steve reloads his shotgun without breaking his glare at Bucky. “We're the ones killing them by not even trying to go back.”

“Oh my God, can you  _ please _ save me the Catholic guilt trip for when we're far, FAR away from this nightmare? I'm not being an ass, I'm being realistic.” He meets Steve's disapproving frown with an unimpressed stare. “You know I'm right, because if some part of you  _ really _ thought I was wrong, you'd already be back out there.” He chambers a bullet as if to punctuate his point.

The building violently shakes as another mass of concrete hits the outer wall. “I'm pretty sure that's our cue to  _ get the fuck outta here _ ,” Bucky says as he opens the door to leave their temporary safe room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first real, bonafide fanfiction I've ever written, so please be gentle with criticism. I got a few ideas for more chapters, and they'll probably be a bit longer than this. 
> 
> No straight up Stucky content, but that could change? I'm not discounting it as a possibility, but I want to focus on more of a horror vibe - or at least make it feel like an actual game of Left 4 Dead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this turned out longer than I thought. Like, twice as long. I'm not complaining, I had fun with it.

The safe room door opens to a catwalk fifty feet above a hangar. Bucky stops dead in his tracks. It takes a second for Steve to register that there’s someone standing a few dozen feet in front of them.

“That is the fattest guy I have ever seen in my entire life,” Bucky mutters. “What the hell is he doing?”

“He’s- I think he’s spewing on the people down below,” Steve replies disbelievingly, peering over Bucky's shoulder. The sight of the grotesque man before them has them stunned. His size and shape is much more reminiscent of an oversized balloon than a human. His skin has a sickly gray-green color and is covered in pustules and sores, some of which are deep enough to expose organs. And he's bent over the railing to vomit a thick, grassy green sludge onto the poor souls below them.

“Man, it's like you after riding The Cyclone.” Bucky raises his pistol, thankful for having just refreshed his ammo supply. “I'm actually kind of impressed, he might beat your record.”

“Never gonna let me live that down, are you? You're such a prick.” He can't see Bucky's face, but he can practically hear his smirk. “It’s not looking good down there. I think the puke is… actually attracting those ghouls.”

Bucky glances down. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” They watch in awestruck horror as bile splatters on pilots and personnel, followed soon by wraiths dogpiling them. “There's more in here than there were outside, ain't there? Where are these fuckers coming from?”

A loud burbling takes their attention from the scene below. The large blob-man noticed them and was moving closer, making wet, retching noises. Bucky instinctively aims and fires.

Their vision immediately turns green as the oversized wraith explodes into a fountain of bile and rotting body parts, completely covering them in gore.

“Are you _fucking serious right now!?_ ” Bucky's fruitlessly wiping the slime out of his eyes, the goo loosening the grip on his pistol and it slips out of his hand.

Steve can't see either, but he can hear that the energy of the room has changed direction. Sounds of excited howling and the catwalk is thumping from extra bodies climbing up onto it. His vision clears enough to see a mass of movement at the far end, blocking their way. Bucky's still scrubbing at his eyes - he got the brunt of the explosion.

“Here, take this and crouch, you can shove them back when they're too close,” Steve says as he hands his shield to Bucky. Bucky half turns, hesitant. Steve nods. Realizing Bucky still can't see him, he pushes Bucky down into a crouching position. Steve's vision is mostly clear, which is enough to see that the mass of ghouls is much, much closer.

“Brace yourself, Buck!” Steve shouts, as he starts firing into the approaching horde. The shotgun pushes the front line back. They keep surging forward as new bodies replace the ones dropping left and right, a continuous moving wall of limbs and rotten flesh.

A horrible shriek of ripping corrugated metal pierces through the horde’s moaning. Steve's firing falters as he glances down in time to see a massive, tank-sized chunk of the wall being torn open like tissue paper. Roaring, the behemoth charges into the hanger and wastes no time in wreaking havoc. Wings are wrenched off of planes to be hurled at the few pilots and personnel who have managed to stay alive. A lazy backhand throws one through the air and he lands with a sickening snap.

Well, **shit**.

Bucky shoves back on the mass of bodies, the stinking bile finally cleared from his face. “Steve! Quit daydreaming and focus!”

Right. One step at a time. He resumes firing into the thinning horde, praying that the hulking abomination stays occupied on the ground. When the crowd is reduced to a few ghouls, Bucky finishes them off with the shield.

Steve feels a breeze on the back of his neck as a plane engine whips past them, missing by millimeters.

“Nope,” Bucky says, “we are not dealing with that.” For once, Steve is in agreement, and they take off for the stairway. The next piece of heavy machinery is thrown with more accuracy and smashes through the grated walkway in front of them. The metal groans as support wires snap, dropping them ten feet. Steve instinctively grabs the railing and the back of Bucky's coat as they lose their footing.

“Oh, _come on_!” Bucky shouts indignantly as he slips flat on his ass. They're still quite a way above the ground floor. The metal walkway is creaking and slowly bending under their weight, the support wires straining under their increased stress loads.

“We gotta jump,” Steve says. It's not an appealing option, jumping down into a swarm of ghouls and directly into the path of the behemoth’s rampage, but the alternative is to wait for the walkway to collapse and drop them completely. Steve would rather jump into enemy territory on his own terms than wait for the decision to be made for him. “Maybe if you use the shield to land on them, it'll give you a softer landing.”

“And what about you? You're gonna break your legs, and then I'm going to be stuck here watching a self-sacrificing idiot being eaten alive.” Like Steve, Bucky would also rather do things on his own terms, and gives an unspoken agreement that jumping is probably the best option. Unlike Steve, he has to run his mouth and complain the entire damn time. He draws his feet up and angles the shield. “Of all the dumb, horseshit plans, I can't fucking believe I'm actually going --” he grumbles as he drops into the crowd below.

He lands on a half dozen of the ghouls, shield first, rolling to his side as their bodies crumple from the force. Steve’s lowering himself to drop carefully when the footbridge stops its groaning and the support wires snap entirely, the bent section falling - and taking Steve with it.

“ _STEVE!_ ” Bucky's stomach twists sickeningly and his heart is in his throat. He can’t breathe. He doesn't realize he's on his feet until he's shoving through the crowd, pushing violently to get to Steve. These fucking wraiths are crowding on where Steve should be, kicking and stomping at a huddled mass on the ground.

Deeply regretting that he initially armed himself with only one pistol and his sniper rifle (it was _supposed_ to be a recon mission), Bucky rams the edge of Steve's shield into the mob, frenzied in his movements. He hears coughing as he knocks down the last few. His mouth goes dry. “ _Steve_ ,” he croaks, “if you die on me, I swear to Christ I'll fucking kill you.”

Wheezing, Steve reaches up towards Bucky’s outstretched hand. “I'm not dead yet, asshole. Just- just got the wind knocked out of me.”

“I might have to kill you anyway for scaring me like that, you dumb lout.” Bucky's voice cracks as he pulls Steve to his feet, nausea fading and the pounding of his heart gradually slowing. Just breathe. Assess the situation.

Steve's limping pretty bad on his left leg and he's got a real smart looking cut on his forehead. Probably bruised, if not broken ribs. Concussion, likely, even just a minor one. His eyes are a little glassy, and despite what he says, he's not going to be much help right now.

That abomination is currently focused on climbing the far stairway to get to… what are those, offices? Some kind of windowed room that was on the far end of the catwalk. It's not going to hold its attention long, Bucky thinks, but at least the horde down here seems to be much smaller. Time to make their retreat.

A plane on the far end of the hangar roars to life. Apparently someone did survive the rampage. Looks like there's a couple of them - someone's opening the big hangar doors. Stupid, though, since the noise drew the attention of every ghoul in the place. Including the abomination. Bucky's not complaining (for once), it might be enough of a distraction for him to get Steve out in one piece.

He peers out of the main doors. There's a row of Jeeps lined up outside. Bucky glances back to the plane. Oh. Those guys aren't gonna make it. The behemoth had leaped off the stairs onto the back of the plane and is pounding on the hull, smaller bodies are swarming the sides.

Bucky bites his lip and hurries Steve faster. The survivor who opened the entrance shouts at them in German and waves at the plane. “Sie sind tot!” Bucky shouts back. “Uh, kommen sie bitte mit… us.” Well. It should be enough to get the point across. No time to lament barely passing an old high school class.

Steve chuckles quietly. “Your German is terrible.” 

Bucky grits his teeth. “Yeah yeah, the one class you were better than me in. Rub it in harder, why don’t ya.” 

Bucky starts jogging towards the closest Jeep, half dragging the still-dazed Steve behind him. He nudges Steve towards the car and tells him to start hotwiring it. He unslings the rifle from his back. There's gotta be a way to stop or slow down everything in the hangar. He thinks for a second and then takes aim.

The sharp crack of the rifle thunders four times as the remnants of the wrecked planes start gushing fuel. Bucky looks to the survivor that's hesitantly following them and mimes throwing a grenade. The soldier raises his hands as he shakes his head and spouts off rapidfire German. No one else ever wants to do the dirty work. Fine.

Bucky presses his lips in a thin line and reaches his hand out. “Give it to me, then. I'll do it.” The soldier shakes his head again and points. “Yeah, I know. But we're gonna have to chalk them up to collateral damage.” Bucky isn't too sure if this guy knows English, but he didn't look happy about Bucky's response.

“Look pal, I'm gonna do whatever it takes to keep me and my buddy alive. King Kong in there ain't gonna stop when he's done with your friends and I do not intend on being part of his victim count. Either help or get out of my way,” Bucky hisses in a low voice, eyes gleaming. Maybe this guy does understand English, because he resignedly unclips the grenade from his belt and hands it over.

Bucky pulls the pin without hesitation and lobs it to the biggest gasoline puddle, jogging backwards as he does so. Flames erupt as the explosion rocks through the building. Buck and his new German friend run to the Jeep that Steve's got up and running, throwing the doors open and climbing in as Steve starts to pull out from its parked spot.

“Shove over, Steve, I'm driving.”

“I'm fine, I can do it.” Bucky studies him for a second. His eyes look clear now. There's no time to argue.

“I- Fine, you better not run us off the road.” Bucky turns back to watch the shrinking view of the hangar burning. Nothing seems to be following them. His gaze shifts to the German in the backseat.

“Alright, I'm gonna completely level with you. Hope you know English enough to follow me. Something terrible is going on. Those people were dead as a fucking doornail, but they're still up walking around. Right now the two sides seem to be the living and the dead. You wanna tag along with us, I really, _really_ do not care as long as you understand we're on the same side right here. The _second_ you decide your loyalties lie with Hydra and Hydra only, I will kill you. My bullshit tolerance is at zero right now.” Bucky's voice is hard and razor-sharp.

< _that cold edge, that ruthlessness, war doesn't change people that much, does it?_ >

The soldier swallows hard and nods jerkily. “Ja- y-yes. No Hydra.” He points to his chest. “Rolf.”

Bucky stares for a few moments, then points to himself. “Barnes. Sergeant James Barnes.” Points to Steve. “Captain Rogers.”

They drive off in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had Chapter 3 done, but this went a bit off road from what I was going for, so I think I need another (probably short) chapter to get back on that road. It's either that or gut the next chapter and start over, which isn't something I want to do since I really like how it is right now.
> 
> Oh, side note, text written < _like this_ >, is like, Steve's (sometimes subconscious) observations/suspicions about Bucky changing from before the war and being tortured/experimented on. It's stuff Steve notices but really doesn't *want* to notice (kind of a denial thing that this Bucky isn't the same Bucky he grew up with; that he's not just Steve's Bucky anymore)  
> I'm sorry if it's confusing or annoying.
> 
> I think perspective changes are generally a big no-no when writing things, but, uh, oops. 
> 
> It is what it is.
> 
>  
> 
> [I have a Tumblr, btw](http://soldat-buck.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Retcon note: This whole thing is supposed to be taking place at night, which I don't think I gave any indication of that in the other two chapters. This is taking place 1-2 hours after the end of Ch 2, in that weird ‘so late it's early’ time at night.
> 
>  **Warnings are in the End of Chapter notes** (I kinda consider them to be a bit spoiler-y? But if you're sensitive to certain types/victims of violence, I'd advise checking the warnings)

Steve has no idea where they are or where they're going. It's pitch black and freezing cold outside, what few road signs they pass are in Polish, Steve's ribs and left hip are in agony, the recon mission was fucked more thoroughly than a student of the Kama Sutra, and Bucky decided to earn their new companion’s trust by issuing a very sincere and heartfelt death threat. Today's just been _fucking swell_.

Bucky's tension fills the small space of the covered Jeep and is almost tangible. The newly defected Hydra soldier, Rolf, just keeps eyeing Bucky warily while occasionally tightening his grip on his rifle. That tends to happen when a person is terrified of being shot at any second. Dammit, Buck.

“There doesn't happen to be a map over there somewhere, is there?”

Bucky rummages around the debris at his feet. “I don't think so. There's a couple bennies, though. How's your pain doing? You want one?”

Tempting. Steve’s fall had left him with blurry vision, and the pain was enough to hear his heart pound and put the world in black and white. The blurriness has mostly cleared up (thank God for super soldier serum), but the pain is still there. It might not last as long for Steve, what with his accelerated healing and all, but a broken bone still fucking hurts.

“I used a syrette before we started driving. M’fine.” Bucky scoffs softly while pocketing the inhalers. Steve's a terrible liar. It may be dark, but Bucky can faintly see the sheen of sweat on Steve's face and hear the intermittent hisses of pain that Steve's failing to hide. That morphine wore off ages ago.

“Steve, you're weaving all over the goddamn place. If you're not gonna take one of these, then let me drive.” Exhaustion flattens and dulls Bucky's voice.

“You don't sound so hot yourself, pal,” Steve retorts. “You see that light through those trees? I think that's a farm. We should stop and take a break. See if they have a way for us to communicate our location.”

Bucky sighs and crosses his arms as he considers it. “Well. We don't know what their attitude is gonna be towards some military guys coming in and demanding bedspace and a radio, _especially_ with a German soldier. Best case scenario, if they're hostile, is that they're just gonna turn us away. Worst case, they see us as a threat and they're prepared to defend themselves.

“But on the other hand, we’re in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere. Who the fuck knows when we'll come across civilization again. We're not equipped to make camp, not one for surviving a winter night in fucking Poland.” A few snowflakes apathetically float in the headlights. “I'm not too particular to freezing my balls off in the car, neither. Still though.”

Steve mulls it over. “You're right. But we are low on gas. We're going to have to stop sooner or later anyway, we might as well stop there.”

Bucky looks out the window. “Aye aye, Capitan.” He turns to speak over his shoulder. “How are we doing back there? You're still alive’n breathing, right?”

Rolf just grunts in response. He only seems to know a rudimentary handful of English words. Steve has a much better grasp of German than Bucky, but two years of forgotten high school German classes aren't much help at the moment.

They turn onto a long, gravel driveway towards the lone light. As they approach, a barn looms out of the darkness. It stands protectively between them and the small farmhouse, a yard light illuminating dirt and gravel paths between the buildings. Steve parks the Jeep behind the barn, pointed the way they came in.

“So.” Bucky laces his fingers behind his head and leans back in his seat. “Are we just gonna go and knock on their door in the middle of night? That seems kinda impolite.”

Steve pauses and rubs the back of his neck. He didn't think of a plan past ‘let's stop and rest’.

“I kinda hate to suggest it, but maybe we can tuck in at the barn here?”

“Ah, well, I do prefer breaking and entering over getting shot by some Polack rube.”

“Bucky!” Steve hits his shoulder. “You can't say that!”

“What, Polack? I got Polish in my family, I can say it.”

“Only by marriage! Your cousin marrying Herman Zalinski doesn't count!” Bucky rolls his eyes and opens his door.

Everything is quiet except for the soft patter of fat snowflakes. It would almost be peaceful, if they hadn't just escaped a nightmare.

The first thing Bucky notices is the smell. “Holy fucking mothballs, it reeks. Like Death himself is here.”

Even with the cold, the miasma assaults Steve's senses. Of course, because nothing about today (yesterday?) can be normal.

With Bucky supporting Steve, the three of them creep around to the doors of the barn. They're unlocked and cracked open. Bucky lets go of Steve and pulls out his flashlight to peer inside. He sweeps the beam of light through the opening and goes still. “What the fucking fuck,” he breathes.

Steve clicks on his own flashlight and pushes the door open a few inches to look for himself. It's a cattle barn, all the cattle are grouped up on the other side. Probably to keep warm.

Pointing his light at them, Steve realizes that the cows aren't huddled together. They're dead, corpses piled on top of each other. They grin ominously back at them, the skin peeled from their skulls.

Steve and Bucky look at each other with wide eyes. “Steve, I ain’t ever spent much time on a farm, but I'm pretty sure that's not normal.”

A dog barks from the direction of the house - and is abruptly cut off with a whine of pain. Steve looks to the house and takes a deep breath (the streams of pain shooting through his rib cage has him immediately regretting it).

“Steve?”

Steve sets his jaw and narrows his eyes.

“Steve.”

Steve digs out a morphine syrette

“I know what you're thinking and I don't like it, Steve.”

“Come on, Buck. Someone might be in trouble. We gotta.”

(Rolf wonders to himself whether he'd be better off trying to walk on his own through the woods to the nearest town.)

Bucky closes his eyes and sighs. Like it or not, yeah, they don't have a lot of choices. They are in the middle of nowhere. How dangerous could it be? (Bucky tries not to think about how that sounds like ‘famous last words’) “At least let's first use the medkit in the car so you can walk properly again. You can't keep using morphine to pretend you're not hurt.” Super soldier or not, last thing Bucky needs to deal with is a teammate with a morphine addiction.

At the Jeep, Steve groans as he leans back against the hood. “I think I'm gonna need help to pop my leg back into place.”

Bucky cuffs the back of Steve's head. “You've been driving for three hours _with a dislocated hip?!_ The hell’s the matter with you?!”

“Ow! It wasn't that bad, geez. I was _fine_.” Steve was not fine. He'd never admit it, though. He can't tell if Bucky wants to cry and hug him or yell and slug him. “Just grab my knee and push, will you?”

Shooting him a dirty look, Bucky does as he's told. There's a dull crunch as the joint moves back into place. Both Rolf and Bucky look a little green at the sound. It takes every ounce of Steve's resolve to not scream at the white hot pain.

Bucky reaches for Steve's hand and squeezes. “C’mon pal, just breathe. You'll be alright in a minute. You're gonna be fine. Just breathe for me, alright?” _This sort of shit is why I wanted you to stay home, you stubborn_ _ **asshole**_ , is what Bucky wants to say.

They finish bandaging Steve up when he's lucid again. Bucky makes Steve take some aspirin and pushes a Benzedrine inhaler into his hand. “We're gonna need you to be moving faster, okay bud? Me and the Kraut can't do this without you.”

Steve nods. He unscrews the inhaler ends, brings it to his nose, breathes in and -

 _Holy_ _ **shit**_.

Color seeps back into the world, like Dorothy visiting Oz. Everything looks sharper, too sharp, every sound turns tinny and flat.

Bucky smiles lopsidedly and slaps him on the back. “Feelin’ better, huh? Let's go get ‘em, champ.” His smile doesn't reach his eyes.

As they approach the house, a ragged howl sounds and a humanoid figure breaks through a second story window. It hits the ground in the darkness ahead of them.

Steve can hear the thing growling like a pissed off alley cat. Before any of them can react, it comes at them, leaping out of the shadows and landing crouched on all fours between them. In the light, it's revealed to be an elderly woman. Her face is hooded by a heavy headscarf, chin and mouth bloodied, hands gnarled and clawed. Her clothes are a filthy mess, sleeves torn to shreds, the bottom few inches of her dress in rags.

She yowls and pounces at Rolf, who happens to be closest, instantly incapacitating him. He struggles to pull out a Luger, but she knocks it away and swipes her claws at the exposed skin of his neck.

Steve draws his shield and charges at her, throwing her back. She rolls into a crouch as she hits the ground and uses the momentum to launch at Steve, snarling rabidly.

Steve barely has time to raise his shield before she knocks him off balance and pins him to the ground. Frustrated she can't claw at Steve's chest, she hunches over to snap and bite at Steve's neck. Under her headscarf, her eye sockets are empty, the flesh around them scratched off.

_WHAM!_

“Fuck _off_ , Babushka from Hell!” Bucky yells as the flat side of a wood ax collides with her shoulder, flinging her off of Steve. Hissing, she rocks back on her haunches and lunges for Bucky. He swings the ax and hits her in midair, cleaving into her skull and dropping her like a stone. Breathing heavily and spattered with blood, he stares at the mutilated corpse.

Steve climbs to his feet slowly. He walks over to check on Rolf, who doesn't seem to be moving. There's a lot of blood. He can't find a pulse. Bucky still hasn't moved from his spot.

“Buck.”

Bucky jerks, pulled out of his trance. “What?”

< _did you intentionally pick me over him?_ >

Snow flutters between them, falling more heavily. It clings to their hair and eyelashes and shoulders; ices up the sticky blood on the ground.

Bucky clears his throat. “It's getting colder. We should go inside,” he says, avoiding Steve's eyes. He walks over to Steve and offers a hand. Steve ignores it and gets to his feet.

“You should take his rifle. That SKS is going to do a lot more good in close quarters than your sniper rifle would.” Steve walks over to the body of the Hell Babushka and wrenches the ax from it. “This too.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea.” The wind picks up as they walk to the house entrance.

The front door is unlocked, and they let themselves in. It's silent and dark in the entryway. There's two sets of stairs to the left, one going up and one down to the basement.

“Okay, I've seen both Dracula and Frankenstein. We're not going in that basement,” Bucky mutters. Steve huffs a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, alright. Keep an eye out for any phones or radios. Don't tell Peggy I said this, but I'm starting to think doing this with a minimal team was a bad idea.”

Bucky gives him an ‘I Told You So’ face.

“I am aware that you didn't like it, either. You've made that clear. Many times.”

Bucky raises his hands defensively. “Alright, I'll drop it. Let's go check out the upstairs first.”

There are three bedrooms in the short hallway upstairs. One door has Polish written across it, crosses painted all over it, and is barricaded with a few chairs and end tables.

Steve opts to leave that one alone. He opens the door of the center bedroom and flicks on the light. It takes a second to process what he's seeing.

He immediately slams the door shut and turns away, retching. “Don't- don't go in there.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Do I want to know why not?”

Steve shakes his head, hand to his mouth and visibly paled. “I- Kids’ room. They're… Christ, they're still in there.” He doubles over, hands to his knees, struggling to regain his composure.

Bucky frowns. There's no talking, or crying, or any noise really, coming from-

Oh.

Bucky puts his hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezes. “I'm sorry,” he says, not really sure of what else to say.

“There's just… All that blood…”

“Yeah. Nothing right about it, I know.” Bucky doesn't need to see what happened to feel sick about it. “Look, uh. I can check out the last room if you need me to.”

“Yeah. Yeah, go. I just. Need a minute.”

Bucky pats his shoulder and heads down the hallway to the third bedroom.

He watches Bucky turn on the light and disappear through the doorway. He hears a sharp inhale and a shaky voice call out “Steve? You should probably see this.”

Gritting his teeth, Steve braces himself when he enters the room.

Two bodies are on the bed, lying side by side. The woman is on her back, hands folded neatly across her chest and holding a rosary. The man has one hand on his chest, also tightly gripping a rosary. The other hand hangs limply over the edge of the bed. The cause of death is apparent - both have gunshot wounds to the temple.

Bucky gestures to the man’s arm.

Steve swallows the nausea threatening to choke him and leans over for a closer look. “Bite marks. So, whatever those were at the Hydra base made their way through here at some point.”

“Yeah, and Steve, look. That's gangrene or a serious infection, but the wounds are still pretty new. That shouldn't happen that fast.”

Steve chews his bottom lip, thinking.

“I think we're dealing with some sort of weird fucking strain of rabies. You saw them back at the base, they were attacking like animals.”

“Yeah, I- I don't know, Bucky. Maybe. Rabies doesn't make dead bodies walk around, though.”

“I'm just sayin’, they're acting just like a dog with rabies. I think this is some kind of disease or infection. I don't want to find out the hard way that even your immune system can't fight off whatever this is. We should be careful.”

Steve nods slowly. He sits down, suddenly very tired. “And I thought we needed to rest _before_ stopping here.” He laughs, but there's no humor behind it.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair. “I can take first watch for a coupla’ hours, if you want. Probably better to head out when there's light, anyway. “

Steve’s asleep before Bucky finishes speaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning** for off-screen, heavily implied animal death; discovery of off-screen children's death (not described in detail)
> 
> Not sure if I should have a warning for ‘Polack’? It's generally considered a derogatory term to call a Pole that without being Polish yourself (that particular spelling carries the connotation that Poles have low intelligence). I’m under the impression there's not as much anti-Polish sentiments nowadays, so it's not really a common thing and may not need a warning? 
> 
> Bennies - slang for Benzedrine, basically amphetamine. I'm using them as an equivalent of the adrenaline shot in L4D2. 
> 
> Pacing and tone might be all over the place, that's probably something to do with my ADD, sorry.
> 
> btw, I have a [Tumblr](http://soldat-buck.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

It turns out that the farmhouse isn't too far from Bialystok, according to the road map Steve managed to find. They stock up on what they can and make their way through the thick woods once it's daybreak.

\---

It takes a few hours to reach the city limits. There's not much activity for a moderately sized city in the middle of the day, though it's hard to tell exactly what's going on when entire streets have been barricaded with brick walls.

A substantial area of the city is walled off. The streets that are open are empty. Steve and Bucky wander a bit, unable to find another living soul.

The main entrance to the sectioned off city blocks is a large, wrought iron gate, locked with chains wrapped around the bars. Through the gate, they can see hundreds of starved bodies, lying in the street and left to rot. The walking undead they see are different from what were back at the base.

They almost seem lethargic, hardly able to move. A few manage to notice Steve and Bucky, but they don't do much other than glare and wheeze aggressively. Most are unaware of their presence and aimlessly stumble. Some are on the ground, weakly moving their emaciated limbs in an effort to crawl. What little flesh they have dangles uselessly from bone. The infection has passed through here long before Steve and Bucky arrived.

They move on, searching through Hydra-seized apartment buildings for anything useful. Bucky is uncharacteristically quiet, which has Steve worried because normally he can't get the jackass to shut up. The sun is sinking towards the horizon, drawing longer shadows on the streets, and they’re not having much luck finding buildings with any working communication lines. The few clusters of wraiths around move slowly and are spread far enough apart to be easily avoided.

They come across an apartment building that looks better maintained than the surrounding ones. Steve walks up to the large glass-fronted entrance and notices a familiar red logo gracing the lobby wall. A building this nice amid the surrounding squalor, marked with the cruel tentacled skull - chances are good that this is where high ranking Hydra officers laid claim. It's known that they keep all the best for themselves. If there's anything of value to find, it's likely to be in here.

\---

Steve takes a shuddering breath, trying to calm his nerves. It doesn't help. Should've fucking known that Hydra would do something like this, rigging the front door to release a crowd of undead. Hydra's wringing every bit of use from them, even after starving them to death.

No movement is coming from the pile of corpses around them or on the street outside. He turns to face Bucky and nods his head toward the hallway. "Well, we're already in here. Might as well see what we can find."

Bucky hefts his ax and nods, panting lightly. He takes a cursory glance around the room before following Steve.

From what they can tell, they're in an apartment building repurposed for both military offices and housing. It looks like Hydra evacuated their top officers weeks ago at the first hint of trouble (going by dates of files scattered around), leaving the lower ranks to deal with a disease outbreak going out of control. It must have been a hasty evac, given that they didn't bother to destroy incriminating evidence or even gather personal belongings.

Steve pages through a particularly large stack of papers on an important-looking desk in an important-looking office. His blood runs cold as he scans through a thick file. “That- that can't be right.”

“What can't be right?” Bucky is busying himself by poking through the various knickknacks and photos on the bookcases. The guy this office belonged to must’ve had a pretty high rank; there's a lot of photos of him standing around with Schmidt. Bucky pretends not to notice the one of him shaking hands with Zola.

“I don't think I'm remembering my German correctly, because these look like they're saying this disease was spread _intentionally_. Through the bricked off areas here.” Steve raises an eyebrow and looks up at Bucky.

Bucky is quiet as he thinks it over. “Well. I mean, when I was in that lab… I don't think I'm surprised that they'd do something like that,” he says softly.

Steve pauses at the implication of what Bucky _isn’t_ saying, before reaching for the phone. “Do you remember the SSR emergency codes? I don't know if I do.” It's a bald-faced lie, but he's eager to change the subject.

Bucky quirks a half smile, knowing that Steve's only asking in order to pull Bucky out of his own head. He clears his throat. “Yeah, uh. They're using some city hall number in Warsaw, but you gotta-”

The lights flicker and go out.

Steve frowns at the receiver in his hand when they blink back on. “So much for using the phone. Line’s dead.”

“There's gotta be a radio or something around.”

They search through the rest of the floor, finding a few first aid supplies and some ammo but not much else. The second and third floors don't yield much either, mostly more offices.

As they enter the stairway to head to the fourth floor, the power goes out, plunging them into darkness. Cursing under his breath, Steve digs out his flashlight.

He hears a strange, faint rustling coming from a landing above them. Another undead, someone left behind in the evacuation? He raises his light and motions to Bucky to proceed with caution. He creeps around the bend and up the narrow staircase, listening intently. Bucky soundlessly follows with his own flashlight out, tensed up in anticipation of a fight.

Nearing the top of the flight, Steve realizes he isn't hearing the usual mindless moaning of a walking stiff, but soft _crying_. The wraiths they've fought, they don't make noises like that. They don't have the awareness needed to feel pain or grief.

It sounds like a woman. Steve can't tell if she's injured or distraught. Relief washes over him to have finally found someone else alive in this living hell, even if they're in a bad condition. He waves to Bucky to relax as he picks up speed and calls out.

“Ma’am? Are you alright? Do you-”

Bucky's eyes widen when he realizes what he's hearing. He grabs Steve's arm and forcefully yanks him back, hissing “Shut _the fuck up_ , Steve! We have to go back down _**now.**_ ”

Steve turns to face Bucky, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The crying is clearer now, a low, steady keening. He doesn't lower his voice when he replies.

“What the shit is your problem, Buck? Can't you hear her crying? She's probably in trou-”

The sobbing cuts off suddenly. Bucky's face drains of color as his grip on Steve's bicep tightens painfully.

“Steve, you gotta trust me on this,” he whispers, barely audible. “We absolutely **cannot** get near her. We have to go back the way we came.”

Steve isn't entirely convinced. He can just about see her, pointing his light up the stairway. She's on the ground facing away from Steve, rocking back and forth, head lolling to the side. She's likely in some kind of emotional shock. Her breathing is unsteady as she takes deep, shuddering breaths. Her long, tangled hair is so blonde it might actually be white. From what he can see of her shirt, it's dirty and ripped.

It isn't like Bucky to abandon someone, if he's able to help. Hell, he's usually the first to suggest helping someone in need. But also, Bucky's gut feelings have kept them out of life-or-death situations countless times (the polar opposite of Steve's gut feelings - he's often the one who gets them in those reckless situations to begin with).

Steve doesn't know how Bucky can read when a situation is bad enough to earn a withdrawal, but nine and a half times out of ten, he's right.

He watches her for a few seconds, but turns to slowly retreat down the stairs. Bucky is creeping down in front of him, the rubber squelching of their boots sounding unnaturally loud. The silence is slowly replaced with agitated growling.

Bucky looks back to Steve. “ _Shit,_ she knows we're here. We gotta run for it,” he says, voice rising to a shout. “Go. Now!”

They stampede down to the door, enraged shrieking filling the stairway. They tumble through the door, a screaming white blur not far behind. Steve's breath is knocked out of him as the woman shoves him forcefully out of the way to get to Bucky. She knocks the flashlight out of his hand, grabs him by the neck, and throws him to the floor. The light rolls a short distance away, illuminating Bucky's face and chest. With a snarl, she straddles Bucky's waist and wildly rakes her bloodied hands down at him, her fingers elongated into wicked claws.

“Jesus Christ, _Jesus fucking Christ, get her off GET HER OFF!”_ Bucky shouts, panicked, gun and axe pinned under him. He wriggles frantically, trying to get out from under her, but her emaciated body belies her frightening strength. All Bucky can do is raise his arms defensively, which only earns him deep gouges in his jacket and forearms.

Steve recovers from getting thrown into the wall and hurls the shield at the back of the banshee’s head. She turns and howls angrily at Steve, but has no intention to leave her task of tearing apart Bucky's torso. Bucky takes advantage of the pause to grab her by the wrists. He tries to roll her off to the side, but it's a futile effort that only seems to enrage her further. Her red eyes narrow as she bares her teeth at him.

She inhales deeply and lets out an unearthly howl, frothy spittle hitting Bucky's face. The scream pierces through Steve's brain and sends him to his knees. Bucky's grip loosens as he cries out from the ear-splitting pain. The banshee wrenches herself from his grasp and rears back, readying herself to deliver the final death blows.

Steve fumbles wildly to pick up the shield, ears ringing and head pounding. He scrambles to his feet and slams the rim into the base of her skull, one, two, three times. She collapses.

Bucky yelps, taking a second to realize that the banshee was dead. He shoves the body off of him and sits up shakily. Blood trickles from a particularly nasty swipe across his right cheekbone. Steve crouches next to him, still catching his breath. They stare at each other for a moment before Bucky lets out a humorless chuckle. Steve smiles grimly back and helps Bucky peel off what's left of his coat and shirt. “Let's see what damage we're dealing with.”

The sleeves of the jacket are shredded, ugly lacerations covering Bucky's arms. His chest isn't much better. The cuts aren't bleeding as heavily as Steve expected. Steve bites his lip and pulls out a pack of bandage dressings. “Good thing we just stocked up on first aid, huh?” he jokes weakly.

“Yeah, we're lucky like that,” Bucky wearily replies. “I didn't think those white witches were _real_ , holy hell.”

Steve frowns as he cleans Bucky's wounds < _these are pretty deep, shouldn't there be more blood? is that normal?_ > “What is that supposed to mean, Bucky? She, uh, looked pretty real to me.”

Bucky stares at the floor, quiet for a minute. He fishes out a cigarette and a matchbook from the remains of his jacket. He takes his time lighting it and sucks down a long drag before replying. Exhaling a stream of smoke, he speaks, low and quiet. “They didn't let me sleep much, you know. When I was- the factory in Austria,” he clarifies to Steve's questioning expression.

“They left me there for hours or days at a time, alone. At one point, the crying started, the _exact_ same she” -he points at the pale corpse next to him- “was doing in the stairs. I don't know how long it was until I heard that crying, everything kinda blurs together. Whatever they were giving me messed with my hearing something bad. I mean, you know how I've got that ringing whenever it's too quiet. I always heard screaming or whispering right next to me. Sometimes they were real, most of time not. But that crying was constantly there. Ow- Steve, that really stings.”

Steve is swabbing iodine over Bucky's wounds. “Yeah, but you're gonna be thanking me when you don't get an infection later. Can’t have my right-hand guy losing his arm to hospital gangrene, now can I?”

“Yeah, alright, I guess not. Anyway, they were moving me to a different room one day, when that crying finally stopped. The room just up the hallway had the door open, and some guys ran out, yelling and tripping over each other, in a real hurry to get away. Someone was right behind them, chasing them. I didn't get a great look at her, on account of them drugging me up so much I could hardly see straight. I could tell she was a tiny little thing, though. Real pale, too. She was screaming at that point and took one of them down.” Another pull on the cigarette.

“The guards were on her pretty damn quick, dragging her away. It took four of them to pull her off. I don't know if they drugged her too, but she was back to that damn crying, like a switch was flipped. That guy she took down… he looked like he went through a wood chipper or something. Just about ripped to pieces, and only in a few seconds.

“The guards walking me didn't even bat an eye, seeing their coworker being torn apart like that. Like that sort of thing was _expected_ from whatever they were doing to people. That's what scared me most about being there.” Bucky’s voice trails off and he clears his throat. What remains of his cigarette is half burnt to ash. His hands tremble hard enough that it falls of its own accord. “Like I said, though. They didn't let me sleep much. After a while, I couldn't tell what was all real or what was just a- just a hallucination.” He brings the last of the cigarette to his lips and sucks it down to the filter.

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve says softly. Before his mind catches up with his body, he wraps his arms around Bucky and holds tight. Bucky winces but doesn't move away. After a few seconds, he leans into Steve’s chest and tries to feel comforted or safe or anything, something other than numb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I am also on Tumblr](http://soldat-buck.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Questions and comments are welcome!


	5. Chapter 5 - Rode Hard, Put Away Wet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy howdy, it's been a while, hasn't it?
> 
> Over 3k words, which puts it at just under half the cumulative length of the previous four chapters. I'd like to think that this one is more refined than previous chapters, and hopefully shows some improvement.
> 
> This may be the last chapter, but I am not done with this story - there's a new campaign to be released.

Steve is heartbroken, hearing what Bucky went through while in Zola’s hands. There's nothing he wants more right now than to pick Bucky up and leave this unholy nightmare behind them. These grotesque shells of former people… Well, Steve doesn't know what Hydra was hoping to accomplish with them, exactly. The thought of intentionally creating a fast-spreading, fatal disease is incomprehensible to him. 

And he has a sneaking suspicion that Zola’s experiments on Bucky involved that disease. He hugs Bucky tighter at the thought. Bucky lets out an involuntary whimper at the sudden pressure.  

“Okay, Steve? I appreciate your concern and all, but I can't breathe with you squeezing me like this. If it's all the same to you, I’d like to keep my ribs in one piece.” 

“Right, sorry.” Steve pulls back, a little embarrassed. His eyes drift over the tattered remains of Bucky's shirt and jacket. “Let’s go see if any of these guys left behind some clothes. You’re gonna get pretty cold soon.” 

Bucky narrows his eyes as he stubs out the last of his cigarette. “I came out here to kick Nazi ass, not dress up like one.” 

“Bucky, you can't just run around without a damn shirt in the middle of winter.” 

“Sure I can, fucking watch me.” 

“No, you can't. You were just complaining last night about how cold it is. If it's too cold to sleep in a car, it's too cold to go without a shirt. Jesus, this isn't brain surgery.” Steve's almost too worn out to put up his normal fight. 

“Of all people, I can’t believe that Captain fucking America, the guy with stars and stripes shooting outta his ass, is telling a poor old POW to wear the clothes of the fascists that took him prisoner in the first place,” Bucky huffs as he grabs his flashlight and rolls to his feet. “Isn't it unpatriotic to tell a veteran what to do?” 

Steve rolls his eyes and stands up. “I'm gonna find you a shirt and you're gonna wear it.” 

“Suck a dick, you ain’t my ma. I’d rather fuckin’ freeze.” Bucky storms down the darkened hallway, throwing a rude gesture over his shoulder and muttering to himself. “I can't  _believe_  that he'd think that I would wear a goddamn Nazi uniform, for fuck's sake, the fuck he's thinking… ” 

~~ 

“Buck, come on. Bucky!” Steve calls out as the shadows swallow Bucky up. He sighs to himself. Bucky's temper has been set to a hair-trigger since his rescue from Austria. When he gets like this, Steve is at a total loss as to what to do. He usually picks “yes” in these “pick your battles” types of situations. Not only is he unaccustomed to turning down a fight, fighting with Bucky feels shitty and just plain wrong. He lets out a long sigh in frustration, thinking about what to do next.  

They shouldn't be separated, not under these circumstances. Steve knows that much. A quick search in the nearest office yields a pair of long sleeve long johns, a tee shirt, and a button down shirt. The only clothes without insignia of any sort, so Bucky won't have to compromise his morals - so much worse than getting hypothermia. Steve grinds his teeth at the ridiculousness of it; mad at Bucky for being irrational and mad at himself for being mad about something that Bucky doesn't seem to be doing intentionally.  

He shoves the clothes into a bag and carelessly slams the office door closed.  

~~ 

Bucky nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of the door slamming downstairs. Fucking hell, Steve… Well. It's gotta be Steve, right? Can't be one of those ghouls; he would've heard if one was near by. Or smelled it. 

Most of them weren't nearly as bad as the mutilated cattle in the barn, but Bucky could definitely pick up when one was close. A subtle, almost sickly sweet sort of scent with a bit of sour, like fruit and milk going bad. He's not sure how he hadn't noticed it before, but at some point since arriving in Bialystok, Bucky realized he could almost predict how close an undead was by smell alone.  

‘Course, that only helps so much when Bucky is on a floor of evacuated apartments, full of abandoned, decaying food. It’s almost overwhelming, if he thinks about it too much. 

Not that Bucky would admit it, but Steve is right - the winter chill is settling deeper into the building. It's actually fairly cold on this floor. If these are living quarters, maybe they've got fireplaces. It may not be a bad idea to get a fire going.  

Bucky approaches the closest door and gives the knob a try. To his surprise, it turns. Regretting leaving behind his ax and rifle, he slips his combat knife from its holster. Not ideal when casing an unknown space, but it’s better than being unarmed. He opens the door cautiously and retches upon entering the apartment. He breathes through his mouth and gags when the air tastes nearly as bad as it smells.  

His tinnitus makes the silence deafening. In combination with the smell, it's enough to make his head pound. Bucky raises his flashlight to investigate the apartment, absentmindedly twirling the knife in his other hand.  

It's small - a living room and a kitchen area, with a bedroom in the back. The headache is making it difficult to focus, like putting a two-foot thick glass between him and the world, but the main living area seems to be clear. As Bucky approaches the bedroom door, a soft scuffling noise comes from the room behind him.  

He freezes. It happens again. Slowly he turns.  

A tall, lanky figure fills the entranceway. There's a faint green glow dripping from the face area, something that momentarily leaves Bucky unable to process what's going on. He remembers the flashlight. As he brings the light up, the figure spasms and hurls a large, round mass in Bucky's direction. 

He ducks as it hits the door behind him, splattering on impact. Bucky glances over his shoulder in time to see the spatter erupt into a luminescent, violently green liquid that immediately eats through the wooden door with a hiss. He straightens as he turns back to face -  

Nothing.  

It's gone.  

_Shit_.  

That's not good. He swallows nervously. That was an ambush. These things are hard enough to deal with when they’re mindlessly wandering around, but being  _actively hunted_? They’re also getting more dangerous as the infection spreads - it’s mutating. That goo dissolved solid wood in seconds. Steve and he are in such Deep Shit.  

A shadow stirs in the doorway. Bucky's arm moves on its own. The knife embeds itself deeply in the door frame, grazing Steve's ear on the way.  

Steve stares at the knife in shock. His gaze slowly shifts to Bucky. “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

About ten words try to leave Bucky’s mouth at the same time, resulting in a strange squawk. His insides simultaneously freeze and liquify, everything becomes cold and runny and it's taking everything he's got to fight the urge to vomit.  

Frowning, Steve tosses his bag at Bucky. “I found you some clothes. I made sure to find some without any  _fascist loyalties_.” 

“There’s the rest of your stuff, too,” Steve says, turning his attention to the knife firmly driven into the door frame as Bucky gets dressed. He’s having difficulty understanding how it’s nearly hilt-deep in the wood - Steve’s pretty sure that, even with his engineered strength, he wouldn’t have been able to throw it that hard from that distance. “That is, if you think you can keep your shit together enough and stop attacking me.” Bucky lets out a quiet, maniacal giggle.  

“What, you think this is funny? You nearly killed me,  _James_!” Bucky despises his first name, but it doesn't seem like the gravity of the situation is sinking in.  

“Steve, that wasn't me,” Bucky hoarsely whispers, buttoning the last buttons on his shirt as he talks. “You  _know_  me. Things are worse than we thought, we have to get out of here.” The panic in his eyes betrays his carefully composed voice.  

Steve licks his lips and sighs. There's something here that's got Bucky skittish, more than the witch did. And like a scared, cornered animal, that makes him dange-  **No**. Not going to entertain that train of thought. Steve shakes his head to push it away. Bucky said it himself, Steve  _knows_ him. Bucky will  _not_  end up like one of those soldiers who return from war in body only, the ones who forget they're no longer on the battlefield and are unable to tell the difference between friend and enemy… Not if Steve has anything to do with it.  

“Alright. What do you propose we do? Power's been out for a while, I'm not expecting it to come back anytime soon.” 

Bucky closes his eyes, trying to force the headache away by sheer willpower. “Backup generator. There's probably one with a radio in a top floor somewhere. We can call out for Search and Rescue.” Hydra may not care for the majority of their members, but there's always a back door for those willing to find it. He's not sure how he knows this, but these days, Bucky finds himself knowing a lot of things that he reasonably shouldn't. He rubs his eyes with one hand. Thinking about it too much makes him sick to his stomach.  

Steve nods slowly. “Okay. Sounds like we got a plan.” He pauses, then hands Bucky his weapons, making eye contact as he does so. “You can take the lead.” He doesn't miss how Bucky's face falls, just a fraction, before he nods in acknowledgment. It tears Steve up inside, but he'll be damned if he survives this without Bucky.  

Bucky walks up to the knife, throws Steve a half-hearted smirk, and manages to pull it out with a bit of effort. “No sense in leaving behind a perfectly good knife, right?” His smile falters when he notices the incredulous look on Steve's face. “Steve, come on. Look, no apology can make up for that, but I’m sorry! I- It was an accident. I know what it looks like but-” 

“No, that's- that's not it, Buck. I… Just don't worry about it. We'll talk later. Right now, we need to focus on leaving.” Steve also doesn't miss the way Bucky's mask slips for a second, worry and despair written on his face as clear as day. Then the mask settles back on, cool confidence with a hint of arrogance taking their familiar place as they head into the hallway.  

Another giggle. Louder this time. The cut on his ear stings as Steve silently pulls the shield off his back. There's no change in Bucky's demeanor as they creep cautiously down the hall. Steve isn't taking any chances.  

A quick patter behind him and suddenly a heavy weight is dropped onto Steve's shoulders, throwing him off balance.  

Steve grunts in surprise and drops his shield, calloused hands scrabbling for grip on Steve's head. Hot breath pants in his ear as the creature uses its weight to pull Steve back, causing him to stumble. “Oh, for fuck's sake!” he cries out, before the thing claps a dirty hand over his mouth and bursts into delirious laughter. 

Bucky turns in time to see a familiar lanky silhouette appear from the doorway to heave a massive spitball in Steve's direction. It lands on the floor between them and spreads into a large pool of bubbling green acid, separating Bucky from Steve. The acid glows bright enough for Bucky to see some kind of hunchback riding Steve, manipulating his new center of gravity to steer them towards the acid pool. Steve careens wildly, fighting every attempt to change his direction.  

The spitting undead turns to Bucky. She rises to her full height, an elongated neck making her tall enough to have to duck through the doorway. Acid drips freely from her exposed jawbone, burning holes in the remains of her blouse and chest underneath. She lets loose a guttural growl before charging into Bucky.  

A deep gurgle from her throat cues Bucky to shove her back. He jerks sideways, narrowly missing the stream of acid pouring from her mouth. Instinct again moves his body without his command, which results in a punch straight to her boob.  

The move was not very effective.  

She looks at him as if to say “ _Why would you do that?_ ”, which is the same question Bucky is asking himself.  

He takes advantage of the momentary confusion and throws his weight into a bone-shattering uppercut, jaw splintering as her head snaps back, immediately followed by a mean right hook, the force of the blow further unhinging her jaw and knocking her out cold. Bucky's pretty sure he sees a few teeth go flying.  

He barks a sharp laugh, shaking out his right hand. “That's why you don't fuck with a three-time boxing champ.” He nudges her with his foot. Her limbs spasm a few times. She's not breathing.  

~~ 

Steve slams backwards into the wall. The impact knocks the breath out of the goblin, which stops the cackling but its grip doesn't loosen. Steve briefly considers biting the hand still covering his face.  

He decides he doesn’t want whatever filth covering them in his mouth. He throws his body backwards to the floor. A sickening crack and atrophied limbs lose their grip on Steve's chest. He rolls forward, using the momentum to fling the goblin off and into the acid pool… which seems to have dissipated. Sure. Why not. It's not like anything else they've been fighting has made sense yet, so far.  

He climbs to his feet and makes his way over to the hideous thing. It watches him approach, chuckling weakly with its labored breathing. There’s no humor in the sound or facial expression.  

Steve hesitates, unsure of what he was planning to do. Put it out of its misery? Do they even feel things like misery? They have the ability to lay out ambushes, or at least, some of them do. Which implies they're not entirely mindless. Are they still sentient? His thoughts are interrupted by something small flying past the corner of his eye… Wait, were those teeth? 

“Are you alright?” Steve’s yanked out of his philosophical ponderings. After the slightest pause, he gives Bucky a nod.  

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m okay. I don’t think it hurt me.”  

“Good.” Bucky kneels next to the hunchback, studying its face. It's making an awful noise now when it breathes, sort of a wheezing snore deep in its chest. “Boy, you're even uglier up close, ain't ya?”  

He tentatively reaches for its head and in one quick motion breaks its neck.  

The wheezing stops instantly.  

The silence that follows somehow makes Steve more uncomfortable. He almost misses Bucky whispering a near-inaudible “sorry, pal” as he stands up. 

Bucky's expression is unreadable as he looks at the hunchbacked corpse.  

He glances up at Steve. “We're probably not far from finding a radio. Should keep moving.” 

As they reach the next set of stairs, a thick, phlegmy cough stops them in their tracks. Slowly they turned, watching as a dark shadow climbs to its feet and staggers, step by step, towards them. 

It pauses, mouth wide open and drooling, jaw dangling uselessly. The spitter reaches up and attempts to pop it back into place, to no avail.  

The boys glance at each other and make an unspoken agreement to run. 

Bucky trips at the top of the stairs. He turns and stumbles backwards, scrambling for his SKS.  

The spitter charges up the stairs, taking two, three at a time. Bucky fires at her, but she isn't stopping. Each bullet leaves a hole streaming with more acid, hissing away at her flesh. Ten shots and he's empty, she's nearly reached him now, skin and rotten muscle sloughing off bone, inhuman howling coming from the gaping hole of a mouth. Bucky switches to his ax and swings downward, nearly cleaving her face in two, the force of impact jolting through his nerves and making his arms unpleasantly numb.  

Steve tackles Bucky to the ground, shield raised, protecting both of them from the slurry of dissolving flesh shaking free and pelting them. The spitter’s body continues to disintegrate, liquefying flesh leaving behind a greyed, decaying skeleton.  

They sat on the floor, out of breath, alternatively staring at the corpse and each other.  

After a moment, Bucky's the first to break the silence. “I'm jealous, you know.” 

Steve blinks. “... What?” 

“Yeah. You let that little face-humper get way more action from you in five minutes than I ever did in the last fifteen years.” Bucky flashes his best shit-eating grin when Steve blushes and ducks his head, smiling.  

“You're a fucking idiot, you know that?” he says as he gently punches Bucky in the shoulder and stands up. Bucky huffs out a laugh as he lets Steve help him to his feet.  

“Yeah, I am. But you're kidding yourself if you think you're not one too. Let's go find that radio.” His tone is light and smile is warm, but he looks ragged. Steve's honestly not sure how Bucky's still standing, considered how exhausted he himself is feeling.  

~~ 

The top floor is where they finally find a generator and radio. Despite the weak signal, they get in touch with the SSR and arrange for a pilot to come get them.  

The sun peeks over the horizon as they wait in the cold on the roof. Steve notices a wicked bruise blossoming on Bucky’s cheek. With the rosy gold light of the rising sun, the deep purples and blues are almost pretty. Like a watercolor flower. 

“Steve! Steve, look!” Bucky starts shaking Steve’s shoulder, pointing excitedly. “Look! It’s a plane! That’s our guy!” 

“Where? I don’t see it.”   
   
“It’s right there! How do you not see it?” He pulls Steve’s head closer to better show where he’s pointing. “There.” 

He turns to Steve, with tears of relief in his eyes and the first genuine smile Steve’s seen in weeks. “We made it. We’re getting out of this shithole.” 

Steve can't help but return his grin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw, the first three people who can find the Three Stooges reference will get mailed sparkly dinosaur stickers (if you are willing to share your address)  
> I am 100% serious about this.
> 
> I'd post a link to my tumblr, but I haven't been active on it for about a year (because I end up wasting about 12 hours if I log in (not an exaggeration)). I have a non-fandom related [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mcjigglemeats), should anyone be into that.


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